


Details

by QuentinCrisp



Series: A Peaceful Life--Rogue One Drabbles [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Birthday, Friendship, Fruit, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Jyn addresses her feelings, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sympathy, because why not, except Galen is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 14:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10363047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuentinCrisp/pseuds/QuentinCrisp
Summary: Jyn has been grumpier than usual, and Bodhi learns that she's having a hard time around what would have been Galen's birthday. It's all little details from there.





	

“Can I join you?” Bodhi interrupted her racing thoughts.

Normally she would have been annoyed at the intrusion into her solitude, but at this point Jyn just didn’t have the mental energy to tell the pilot to piss off, so she scooted over to make room for him on the ledge. He flopped down next to her and swung his lanky legs over the side of the overhang, peering appreciatively at the golden plains below.

“Beautiful moonrise tonight,” he offered after a few minutes of silence. She responded with a noncommittal grunt. They sat quietly for a while listening to the hum of insects and the rustling of Bodhi’s jumpsuit as he absently kicked his heels back and forth like a restless child.

“Are you okay?” he eventually blurted out, having finally worked up the courage to address the proverbial bantha in the room. “You just seem like you’ve been, erm, a little upset recently. Or stressed or something…and I thought you might like to talk.”

Jyn assiduously avoided looking at him and cursed herself for allowing a lump to arise in her throat.

“But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay too,” he added quickly. “Obviously.”

She took a long moment to gather herself, half hoping that Bodhi would give up on her and leave, but he didn’t budge. She was never sure if the man was socially oblivious or a master of manipulation.

Jyn found the words at last. “Tomorrow would have been my father’s birthday.”

“Oh,” came the soft reply. He let her statement hang heavy and unadorned in the gloaming for a long beat. “I’m sorry.”

She met his gaze for the first time since he joined her on the catwalk and felt her chest tighten and her eyes grow hot. She had thought she had moved past this months—if not years—ago, but now here she was all worked up over a karking birthday.

“I don’t even know why I remember his birthday. It’s been, what, fourteen, fifteen years?” she laughed bitterly and brushed away a tear. “I was _eight_.”

“Memory is a funny thing,” Bodhi added gently. "Sometimes details just...stick." He was more familiar than most with the struggle to pin down writhing, nebulous images from the past.

The silence stretched out between them again until Jyn calmed herself and felt compelled to share more. “He always wanted fruit for his birthday, of all things,” she said with a small smile. “I remember being all excited one year because Mama had somehow managed to get some rare berries from Hapes, and I couldn’t wait to give them to him. They ended up tasting terrible and I was so upset, but he pretended they were delicious and ate them all anyway so I wouldn’t cry.” This time her laugh contained a measure of actual joy.

“You know, the day I first met him in the mess hall I he was carrying a tray full of nothing but meiloorun fruit,” Bodhi said with a wide grin. “Odd thing to remember, but I’ll take anything I can recall clearly.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Jyn giggled and stared off into the deepening dark. She sighed. “I miss him.”

Bodhi could do nothing but stay at her side and hold Galen's memory between them. 

* * *

The next day Jyn hurried back to her room after her a long, dull briefing. She hadn’t slept well previous night, and she hoped that the exhaustion had finally pushed her to a place where she would be able to fall asleep for a quick nap without spiraling into a cycle of unwanted memories.

Her foot struck something as she stepped in front of her door to key in her access code, and she bent down to pick up a small plasti-pak from the floor. It contained dried slices of candied plaitfuit, along with a scrap of durasheet covered in a wild, slanting scrawl that she recognized as Bodhi’s handwriting. She squinted and smiled as she deciphered his note: “Happy birthday, Galen Erso.”


End file.
